Vigilante
by AmaraSidhe
Summary: Hailey Beckford has been waiting her entire life for this - to finally right what happened to her father. Problem is, she doesn't know how tangled webs of deception can get. R for language, adult themes. Finished 9 September 03.
1. One

(Author notes: Mmm. I'm back. Again. Hopefully, this time it won't be as crazy of an LOA, but I write when the inspiration hits me, which - yeah. This has hit me pretty hard. Leave a review? I'll give you a cookie. Anyhow carrying on...)  
  
From the diaries of Hailey Beckford -  
  
I've never been one to let a grudge go lightly - perhaps the Irish temperment that boils in my veins, perhaps it's the stories I've heard of the betrayal that my father had to deal with. I'm aware of the fact that I'm Daddy's Little Princess, and nothing will ever change his thougths on that matter...  
  
Even if he would never approve of me going to do what I see necessary.  
  
Daddy shouldn't be in a wheelchair.  
  
See, this was when I was younger, when we still lived in Conneticut, before what Mom only referred to as 'the accident' happened, and we'd moved to Virginia to be closer to the family - all the easier to take care of Daddy.  
  
I've thought about this for a long time. For it to finally happen....  
  
-*-  
  
It's the hissing of the brakes that startle me from my writing, and as the Greyhound bus lurches to a stop, I stuff the small notebook into the hidden pocket of my jacket, the plans I'd constructed kept close to my heart, the boiling point of years of seeing only the aftermath of something that had happened when I was too young to even realize what betrayal was. Far too young to realize that righting this wrong would be something that would consume me.  
  
Blonde hair, a tiny bit matted from sleeping on the long trip, dangles in front of dual colored eyes, one reflecting the blue of the heavens, the other a murky hazel, perhaps the color of a moss overgrown pond. Red track pants and a black tank top cling to a curvy frame, one that is apparently thought to be attractive by the opposite sex.  
  
It's what I'm banking on, after all. Loveliness can always lure her way into the heart of evil, if only to destroy it from the inside out.  
  
After all, that's what I intend to do - walk blindly into the lions' den, play their little games...  
  
Bring them to their knees. Make them hurt like I have, like my family has.  
  
It'll be easy, I'm sure. Power brings corruption. Corruption heightens lust for more of everything. Lust - for more power.  
  
And what kind of threat is a pretty young blonde thing, anyway? 


	2. Two

There's a certain mystique about someone new, someone who seems to breeze in from parts unknown and never say a single word about her past, never giving more than her first name to anyone who asks. Yes, there's been some skepticism over my reluctance to say too much, but...  
  
I notice the stares, the unrelenting pursuit of eyes over me, the taunts of the door being almost open - I doubt it'll be this easy once I get in the door, as circles are far more close knit than I'd assumed. People watch each other's backs here, even if they all have their own motives.  
  
It's almost frightening, forcing myself to be as unattached as I am, unaffiliated - friends would be a valuable thing to have here, as violence seems to tear through everyday occurrances, unexpected and unpredictable...  
  
I could hold my own, maybe, but - it's the doubt that's starting to creep over a heart stoic with dreams of vengeance, logic sliding into a mind delirious with desires to right wrongs committed - years before.  
  
I had no part in what had happened when I was younger, as I keep telling myself. But - it has affected things, has changed everything I'd ever had.  
  
Thoughts were lost, money, stability - a hundred things I'd had as a child had been ripped away with a single blow, a ridiculous show of fury and strength, something that hadn't needed to happen, but...  
  
Merely to show someone. Merely to show the world how badass someone could be.  
  
Barriers of trust hadn't been broken - the trust a little girl had of the outside world, the naivety I had, was supposed to have, had been stolen away.  
  
To be wary of the entire world was the price I had to pay - a life of looking over my shoulder and calculating revenge.  
  
I've caught him looking, though - caught him and his little cronies peering at me with eyes clouded over with more than just innocent admiration fo the female form. You could almost hear them betting who would bed me first - because they were so confident that it would happen.  
  
Hell, maybe all three would get their chance. Depending on what needed to happen, how desperate I was to worm my way in. Of course, I was going to start with the pretty one - if I had to look at someone, let alone fuck them, I was going to at least try to make it somewhat nice for me. Not that this is about pleasure-seeking, anyhow. Simply...  
  
A calculation. He's the prettiest. Youngest. Possibly naive, under all that vanity.  
  
It's certainly a start. Now, only to make a move on it.  
  
I only hope I'm ready. 


	3. Three

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
I'm starting to go on a limb, now, knowing that I can't hold back on these plans anymore. There's only so much calculated planning one can make before action has to happen, and while I have things as intricately drawn out as I  
possibly can...  
  
I've realized something. The best plans, at least in this situation, are  
no plans at all. Go for what you can, and get out while you still can.  
  
I've yet to go in, but - tonight. Tonight I'm going to throw caution to  
the wind and simply go for things.  
  
Daddy's concerned - I think he's starting to catch on to my real reasons for being here. After all, Hailey Renee, wanting to do much of anything  
but write in her secretive notebooks? Strange happenings, indeed...  
  
-*-  
  
I'd looked to see just what exactly I was dealing with, what I should wear, little things - I need to know, after all, what is going to make me all the more the catch. There are far too many girls here who I know have more in the looks department than I do, but...  
  
If I can flaunt what I do have in a way that can keep attention? I'm set.  
  
I'd gone through the bags I'd brought with me and found just what I was looking for - the ruffly red dress I had, neck low cut, just enough ruffle on it to be feminine. Long blonde hair let down, tucked innocently behind my ears. Just enough makeup to bring a glow to my face, subtle gold powder dusted over bare skin - plenty of attention drawn to my eyes, as I know the multicolored orbs tend to drag someone in as soon as they look.  
  
Innocent. Vulnerable. There was a draw to that, and I was going to take it and run.  
  
The setting - it's something that I'd seen a lot since tailing these guys - another bar, one that was full of scantily clad women - I stood out on that alone, the fact that I was simply covered. Of course, the fact that I'd been a ghost of a shadow.  
  
That in itself was enough to draw a little interest in dark eyes as I wove my way through the crowd, managing a little bit of a smile - it wasn't difficult to act as if I was interested in him on a sexual level, as - well, there was reason for his vanity, and good reason at that.  
  
"I was wondering when you'd actually come over here..." Rich baritone tickled my ears, and I couldn't help but shiver, just a little. It was part act, part...  
  
One deep breath, and I remind myself of what I'm doing - what is going to happen after I get under the skin of the enemy. Evil.  
  
It's just a shame that other people have to pay too. For years, I had solely plotted revenge against one Hunter Hearst Helmsley. It's just a shame that I'll have to kill a living legend, too. And - well, someone else with so much promise ahead of them.  
  
Ric Flair and Randy Orton shouldn't have to die, but unfortunately, it will probably end that way.  
  
It's...sad, really, but I've seen things. Some people cannot be saved.  
  
I flutter my lashes a bit, leaning in to giggle softly in the youngest's ear, holding back a cringe as I could smell the sting of alcohol on his breath, the feeling of wayward hands already wanting to tug my delicate dress off my frame -  
  
One of my hands finds his, however, and fingers lace together, giving an tug full of less-than-wholesome intent.  
  
He simply looks at me for a moment, and then a slow grin spreads across that strikingly handsome face, before he looks over his shoulder and waves in the direction of the other two, both who look rather amused...  
  
I'm trying not to be sick as my gaze follows to the squinty gaze of the reason for my hate.  
  
I'm already getting under - it's almost too easy. 


	4. Four

My steps are very calculated, off-color eyes half closed, as if I were too involved in the moment, in the fact that I was going to get into a hotel and partake in something that most girls only dream about.  
  
Of course, it didn't matter much to me. A dirty deed with a dirty individual - however, it would get me all the closer to doing what needs done. I merely need to stay the center of attention in someone's mind. Anyone's.  
  
Just to stay in this clique, only to burn it from the inside out and walk from the ashes triumphant.  
  
He, however, was more than happy to think that this was a simple thing, an act of lust, the larceny of a girl's innocence.  
  
The poor fool doesn't know that my innocence was taken before he even knew I existed.  
  
I curl up in the back seat of the limo, though - of course those three would have a limousine, one with a driver on call twenty-four hours a day.  
  
Then again, it's a life of power, of privilage.  
  
"So," I start tentatively, gently easing overeager hands away from my hips, only so I could stare up into eyes clouded with drunken delusions.  
  
Of course, this is also when I realized exactly how tall this guy was, and - well, I'm certainly not petite in any sense of the word, being five-foot- seven, but...  
  
I'm going to hide my worry for now. He's inebriated. There's not really too much of a threat, is there?  
  
Of course, the more I watch him, the youngest one of the three, the - well, I can't help but feel a little guilt. Not that I'm going to thwart my plans because of such, but -  
  
I'm going to ruin someone's life. End someone's existence.  
  
Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but - this is a heist of souls, an event that I've planned since I was old enough to understand the concept of revenge, to realize right from wrong.  
  
After a few moments of staring up, listening to mumbling over the fact that I had really pretty eyes, and how he'd seen me around and wondered just what had made me so aloof, why he couldn't figure me out as a statistic, like -  
  
Like the rest of the world was.  
  
I let his hands roam freely again, knowing full well what he wants, and for now? I'm merely an instrument, a plaything for him to act upon with his darkest carnal desires.  
  
I'm fine with this - it is, after all, another step in the plan.  
  
The car stops, and I'm led into a hotel, one that obviously is not for the short of money - it's not surprising, and I'm vaguely unimpressed as I'm eagerly tugged into a posh looking suite. My eyes widen, even if it is only for acting purposes. I'm supposed to be impressed, supposed to be astonished by the fact that some people have more money than I do.  
  
That's how life works, no?  
  
It's then, as I'm wandering around 'astonished,' I can hear footsteps behind me, and hands slip over my shoulders, turning me around - for a few moments, I had escaped the sting of alcohol, but -  
  
It was burning around my neck again, in my ears...  
  
"...Hailey, is it? Y'gonna show me what you can do?" Words, an amused slur that found it's way into my ears and down my spine, split through the silence, and I turned around slowly, gaze meeting his as I found an amused smirk of my own.  
  
"...I don't know, Randy," crossing my arms over my chest, I quirk a brow, tipping my head back slightly. "You're the one who though it necessary to bring me up here - and for what purpose, hrm?"  
  
Of course I know, but - I want to play a game.  
  
"What purpose?" My wit gets a laugh, though faint and a touch confused, but he presses on, grabbing me forcefully by the waist and drawing me to him. "I think you're a bit old to be so naive."  
  
I say nothing, but play his game, the twists of wandering hands, the assault of being thrown against walls in fits of torrential passion - Again, I'm unsurprised by the fact that such roughness seems vital.  
  
He gets exasperated, though, with my apathy, with the aloof nature I seem to take with this, growling through his teeth as they gnash into my neck and shoulders. "Cry...come on, Hailey. You dumb bitch, don't make me really hurt you..."  
  
I'm silent then, my eyes closed as I taunt him, even as he claws at me desperately, intent on breaking me -  
  
He does it to all the girls, you can tell. Not to me, he won't.  
  
Eventually, though, he stops, spent. The first surprising move of the night happens then, when I'm not told I have to leave immediately, but instead end up having an arm dragged over me as the dark boy falls into what seems a peaceful slumber.  
  
It's then, finally, that I speak, voice oddly childlike.  
  
"I won't cry. My heart will break before I cry - I will go mad."  
  
He doesn't hear me, but that doesn't matter. 


	5. Five

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
Things are definitely starting to fall into place, at least as far as this plan is headed - I've got him intrigued, which means that he'll pursue. At least for a little while, anyhow. Until he's satisfied that he's broken me.  
  
I have to watch my steps even more carefully now, make sure I don't make any silly mistakes. He's a charming son of a bitch, and if I'm not careful, I'm sure I'm going to get in over my head.  
  
That...in a word, won't be pretty.  
  
It's also getting harder to tell Daddy that everything is fine, especially since he's asking about how I'm going with the social aspect of things - I don't want to tell him who I'm with, because again, he may figure it out.  
  
I worry about being locked up, I really do. But - if it happens, it happens. I just hope I get things done beforehand.  
  
-*-  
  
I've been keeping my distance lately, trying to sleep just out of reach of people, trying to elude a second encounter - not that the first one wasn't absolutely necessary, but - too much at once would probably be a dangerous thing indeed, as I'm not particularly positive of what Randy's capable of.  
  
Manipulation. It's nearly an art form around here, and one that I've seen certain people are quite adept with.  
  
Step lightly, and around what I can. Keep just a flash of black lace visible, just a tiny reminder of the one night of drunken passion. Just to keep his mind on a traveling loop of moments.  
  
It seemed to be working, even if he hadn't approached me again yet.  
  
It was all a matter of time, really.  
  
Of course, I've noticed the advances of someone else - haven't been so quiet. Of course, a brattier, less mature side of me even wonders if Ric Flair is capable of thinking in that way, for the sheer age factor. Could he even get up? The laws of physics, apparently, are even baffled by this one.  
  
I certainly know I am.  
  
I'd started coming down the hall a couple days ago, hesitant on approaching again, just to see what kind of work I had to do, and I'd felt a very unwelcome hand on my ass. Nearly whirling around, I'd - well, I can't say I was particularly surprised, but -  
  
It was, no less, a disturbing and disgusting experience, and one that I don't want to repeat anytime soon.  
  
I can only imagine what kind of thoughts were going through his head, and it's all I can do to keep from being sick.  
  
"I'm not here to see you." My gaze had been cold, uncomfortable. If I had to, I would resort to throwing myself back into the bed of the other, if only to escape this, for the time being.  
  
Get him all the more wrapped around my finger, and - then let hell break loose.  
  
Which, is, exactly, what I do. Knock on the door, wait for an answer - when Randy answers, I'm nearly throwing myself at him, if only to evade the Jurassic Wonder.  
  
It's all going to plan. Even if the plan itself keeps needing modified. 


	6. Six

"I'm worried, baby..." I'm whispering as soon as the door closes, eyes slipping closed as I feel hands on me again, the warmth almost welcome - I know it doesn't mean anything, but -  
  
At the same time, one will always get something from the physical advances of someone attractive.  
  
Of course, it also helped that I was escaping advances that I certainly didn't want.  
  
He mumbles something about not having to worry, and otherwise brushes the matter aside for now - I, however, am not finished with it. This is, in fact, the perfect oppurtunity to start setting other things in action.  
  
"No, you..." I'm again slowly trying to pry his hands away - even if I was the one who started things this time around, I needed to let this out. "...you have to understand. Someone was tryin' t'get..."  
  
That gets his attention - though I'm not sure if it's my slight shrinking away or the words themselves, but something definitely gets him to stop for a moment.  
  
"Trying to get what, Hailey?" It's obvious that he's not happy about this latest development, if only because he doesn't feel he's done with me yet.  
  
"...tryin' t'get me away from you." My gaze is level, and I sigh softly before moving to press a lingering kiss to his lips - best to elaborate on the point, watch the thought sink in -  
  
Watch the lightening flash in dark eyes. If I'd questioned the danger I was putting myself in with this, that made me aware of just how far I'd got myself in.  
  
"Not going to happen." His tone is matter of fact, and he moves to throw me against the wall - I can tell that he's certainly not in the mood for conversation now, as I'd simply jumped him from the moment he'd opened the door.  
  
Cat and mouse was certainly not on the menu today.  
  
-*-  
  
He doesn't fall asleep right away, luckily, and while I'm left figuratively licking my wounds from another fierce bedroom battle, he's staring at me, brows furrowed slightly.  
  
Thinking. Maybe about what I'd said earlier. Maybe not. I can't get into his head right now - not as easily as I'd found I could get into his pants, at least.  
  
"...you said someone's trying to get you away from me? Who?" There's that look again, a flash of dark determination to keep me to himself for the time being.  
  
Someone apparently does not play well with others. Sharing is a problem.  
  
I frown a little, as if hesitant to say anything on the matter, as if I know that this is going to be harmful to the inner workings of an ambitious friendship.  
  
This - just seems to get him to look at me. Worry.  
  
I didn't know it was possible.  
  
"Hailey..." Fingers move silently through my hair, and brows furrow even more - as if he's even trying to figure out what to make of this sudden gesture of tenderness, "Tell me, and I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him. I..." He pauses again, "I won't let anyone hurt you."  
  
Not until you're ready to, I think to myself.  
  
But I look away from him again, then lock eyes - a tiny shiver plays up my spine, and I let him pull his arms around me. If I belived he could, I'd think he cared.  
  
"It's Ric." That's all I say.  
  
A kiss is pressed to my forehead, and I close my eyes - for now, I'll let myself be vulnerable. Things will work themselves out.  
  
I may just have to stand back and watch, now.  
  
It's all I have to say. All I need to.  
  
The rest...will pan out as it will. 


	7. Seven

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
I'm really starting to wonder about the intentions of certain people - mainly, however, the intentions of the one I've been spending most of my time with.  
  
I know what I have to do, but - I know that he's interested. Maybe.  
  
Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't broken me yet; all the other girls he comes across, he mows right back down, not even looking back.  
  
Me? I haven't gone down so easily.  
  
So maybe that's it.  
  
It doesn't explain that I do have a shiver of something for him, though I know it's not love - maybe a slight bit of affection, appreciation for the fact that he has seemed to be a little more than protective of me lately.  
  
There's something...genuine there, even if it is hidden under more bravado than anyone should legally possess.  
  
If I have to kill him - I may shed a few tears at his funeral.  
  
He knows not what needs done.  
  
-*-  
  
A few days had passed - days in which I'd been almost fully accepted, if not almost forcefully, into the fold of the three, and most people saw that. They steered clear of the girl who had sided herself with what seemed an inpenetrable source of evil, the strange girl with the off colored eyes who seemed to have Randy Orton at her every beck and call.  
  
It was nice, in a way, to have someone there, almost hovering protectively over you, in case anyone decides that I need 'a talk.'  
  
But you can feel the tenseness in the small group, the nearly audible feeling of trust slowly cracking, even as everything else seems to be perfectly fine.  
  
Tonight - tonight is when I may make a move. Nothing's happened yet, and I don't suspect anyone realizes it, but...  
  
Fingers rap gently on the door, and I glance around the hotel hallway uneasily, knowing the heaviness in my purse had six bullets encased, the safety ready to be switched off at any second.  
  
I didn't plan on using it now, but...soon.  
  
When the door opens, however, I'm greeted by a blink and a slow, almost catlike grin before I'm tugged inside, and I nearly trip on my stiletto heels - black.  
  
Black purse. Black dress. Short. Black.  
  
Evil.  
  
The harbringer of death, at your doorstep.  
  
"...Ha..." A clearing of the throat, as if to remind himself that we were going out tonight, and that he couldn't just rip my clothes off here and now, "...you look...damn..."  
  
"I know, I know, take pictures, bask in my sexiness..." Snickering a bit, I snake one of my hands down his arm, and fingers twine together as I tug him out the door.  
  
To a bar. Another bar. Always a bar.  
  
Right now, it doesn't matter. The hand that keeps wandering over my ass doesn't really feel there, showers of compliments and whispers of the night to come fall on deaf ears.  
  
My nerves are starting to sizzle, and for a moment, the fingers twined with his give a brief squeeze. He'll protect me. He'll believe me.  
  
But that doesn't make me any less scared. 


	8. Eight

I'm biding my time now as I go through the crowd, managing to get myself to the bar - I know that drinking probably wasn't the best thing to do before things started to unfold, but my hands were shaking to the point where I doubt I would be able to do much of anything else.  
  
Three shots. Take them fast, let them burn. Let the alcohol sizzle through my veins, calm me down.  
  
This - this entire endeavor is going to drive me to more drinking than I've ever even thought about doing, but - there was only one way to drown the feeling of apprehension, the fear that something would go wrong, and it would all backfire.  
  
There were too many things to worry about, and no time to worry.  
  
"Hailey?" A hand rests on my shoulder, and I glance up, startled, but - manage to calm just slightly when I realize who it is. Randy. I must be bothering him something fierce, simply sitting here and brooding over hidden plans of death and destruction.  
  
After all, he's much more used to me being his supposed plaything; or perhaps he is mine.  
  
I'm not sure who's technically using who at this point. I suppose, for our own purposes...  
  
"Hai..." I can feel my hair being moved away from my neck, fingers lightly brushing it over one shoulder as a burst of hot air meets my neck. The feeling of teeth pressing down, tiny little nips and kisses. Occasionally, he'll start with trying to lick the side of my neck, but I twitch uncomfortably.  
  
He knows I don't like that, and like a trained puppy, he pays mind to it.  
  
There're words again, murmurings of near concern, dirty thoughts given breath, simply -  
  
I know he doesn't like the fact that I'm sitting here like this, and part of me, perhaps the part with three shots of vodka dancing in her bloodstream, wanted to go back and forget about all of this.  
  
Simply fuck and forget.  
  
I wish I could. But I can't.  
  
"Not now..." I'm moving from the barstool now, pushing him away slightly - there's a flicker of something in dark eyes - surprise maybe. No other girl has ever pushed him around like I have, I presume - no one's ever told him he had to wait for something, and that it may not come to him on a silver platter.  
  
He waits, though, taking my seat and looking forlorn for a moment, then asking the bartender for - something. I'm too far away to hear now, but -  
  
I pass Ric, and I can see him watching me, starting to follow now that he knows that I've pushed myself into 'alone' mode again; it doesn't happen often, it seems, but when it does, it's obvious I'm at my most vulnerable.  
  
Or at least that's what he thinks.  
  
Outside - outside. The old man follows me, and there's visible drunkeness in his swagger. A few steps away - to the alleyway near the bar.  
  
I wait, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, until I can feel the presence of another standing directly in front of me, filthy thoughts of his already starting to take action. He knows there's no one around, and is acting accordingly.  
  
No one can hear me, he assumes. Then again, that means no one can hear him.  
  
I let this go on for a while, all the time trying to hold down the rising taste of bile in my throat, the illness that comes from this - the moment itself, the plans, the...  
  
Everything.  
  
He rips the top of my dress, trying to get to the creamy flesh beneath, and - that's when I strike. A sharp knee connects to his groin, and my eyes flash with fear for a moment before he doubles over.  
  
This is it. This is where the ball starts rolling.  
  
Where it starts. Where it could all stop.  
  
Fingers fumble with the gun, tugging it out of my purse as he staggers toward me again, mumbling curses under his breath.  
  
Fumble with the safety.  
  
"You stupid bitch..."  
  
Shaking finger on the trigger.  
  
"...what the hell are y..."  
  
BANG.  
  
One shot tears through, and I can already see the red spout from the wound, oozing over the white dress shirt.  
  
BANG. BANG.  
  
Three bullets to the chest - it was something I was positive would be lethal, and I shrieked then, knowing that the shots would ring out into the night, maybe catch someone's attention.  
  
I was right. Someone had heard. Someone...  
  
"You little..." Hunter's voice interrupted my somewhat panicked thoughts, and I froze in my tracks, gun skittering onto the pavement below me. This could be -  
  
"Hailey!" Ah, no. Here comes my little hero, and even while he knows what happened, even if he's seeing life slowly drain from the oldest man in their trio, Randy's arms wrap around me, around my fragile, shaking form.  
  
"...he forced me..." Burying my face into Randy's chest, I started sniffling, trying to force myself to cry - the fear had taken hold of me, a sense of shock - so it really wasn't that difficult.  
  
I'd killed someone. Killed.  
  
I was a murderer.  
  
"He followed me out here, and he tried to forc...oh, god..." My knees buckle, and I can feel his grip tighten around me in order to keep me from falling on the ground.  
  
Hunter, however, was still not pleased, and had gone to get the police, all while glaring at me.  
  
Everything I said was the truth, though. I had not verbally said it was all right for Ric to start doing what he had, and he had followed me out here, and...  
  
My story would hold up when asked.  
  
"It's all right, Hailey..." There was another flash of darkness in the youngest's eyes, and his lips met my forehead gently, his arms pulling away only so he could brush away the tears that had started to fall against my face.  
  
Murderer murderer murderer.  
  
Maybe he knew.  
  
That was silly - he knew not of my reasons for being here, nor for any other reason I would hurt anyone - he couldn't know, but...  
  
That look in his eye scared me. That - contempt.  
  
Murderer he knows... 


	9. Nine

It had been a moody few days, full of angst, darkness - I had, for obvious reasons, avoided people the day of the funeral.  
  
Generally, though, I've been laying low, knowing that fingers have been pointed at me, things have been said - I'm apparently a wicked, evil, selfish whore who is going to be the downfall of the entire organization.  
  
Some people don't know how close they are to the truth.  
  
However, fights have gone on late into the night as of late, and while - while I've been keeping myself to the life of a hermit, I want to do something about this. Friend has been pitted against friend, and -  
  
Well, I'm certain the rest of the world knows what side, if any, I was going to take in the matter.  
  
But - for now, no one has heard anything from me. No one has seen even a flash of jewel-colored eyes nor a whip of fine blonde hair.  
  
Not even the faintest whisper of the girl who had pulled the trigger.  
  
Which is why I could hear the whispers when I'd pulled myself out of my own seclusion, dressed again in black - the color seemed to fit not only the mood, but - it was starting to become who I was, where I belonged in this  
world.  
  
I was tangled in this, a reluctant member of this warring camraderie.  
  
But, perhaps, I was the final piece in Evolution. Promise possible.  
Promise fullfilled. Promise...gone.  
  
And the end of it all. That's where I fit. I was simply - one to  
extinguish.  
  
My reasons, though, were valid. I needed to tell myself that.  
  
Needed to, because my resolve was going to slip.  
  
-*-  
  
The door opens before I even knock, as if he'd been waiting for me the entire time - the course of five and a half days, simply waiting for me. A puppy dutifully awaiting the return of his master, full well knowing...  
  
"I thought you'd left me." Alarm in that voice, though very faint, rushed into my ears as the door closed behind me, arms moving to pick me up off the floor completely, if only to move to the messily made bed -  
  
I knew where this was going; I didn't mind in the least. For the moment, anyhow, there would be a little warmth in the world, if only in the physical sense.  
  
The blurring warmth of whispered words, bare skin, a passion that seemed to unhinge the very moment the door had closed. More worry. Tension. Something else.  
  
"I'm glad you did it..." The words cause me to pause, cause my limbs to lock where they are, almost pushing him away.  
  
"Wh...wh...a..."  
  
"I know you did it, Hailey." Fingers trace gently over my cheek, moving slowly over my lips, knowing that it's almost an instinct for me to nip at them -  
  
It's almost a trance-like state here, half brought on by the shock of his words.  
  
"I know you did it, and I wish..." Kisses pressed to my forehead, a nip at my ear, another at my neck, "I wish I could have seen you do it. Pullin' that trigger, in what y'had on..."  
  
Hands slipped under the black tank top I'd purchased only weeks before, tugging feverishly at it - there was a glint in his eye that I'd never seen before.  
  
Almost - a madness matching my own. The thought made me wonder for a moment, but I was snapped back into reality by the mumurings he made against my skin, telling me how much he would have liked to see me stab hot lead into the old bastard's chest, how...  
  
"...how do you know this stuff?" I was shaking at this point, almost terrified that he had found my diary. That - that would...  
  
I don't know what it would do; he seems to like this too much.  
  
"I can see it, Hai..." A wicked smile. "You like people to hurt. So do I. That's why...we're together..."  
  
I said nothing else, but didn't back away from his overeager touch, either.  
  
This...was not supposed to happen. 


	10. Ten

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
This is, among other things, an odd turn of events, and one that I am not afraid to say unnerves me slightly - while this could be a potential step in the 'right' direction, an ally so to speak of...  
  
I didn't see this.  
  
He's...obsessive isn't the word for it. Maybe he has his reasons? Maybe not. I can't say I fully understand.  
  
Maybe I'm not supposed to.  
  
-*-  
  
After the last run-in, I'm more than wary of every door I open - every time I open my own door, I expect to see everything fall in my face, everything just -  
  
Everything I've ever worked for, completely gone.  
  
But - part of me has a morbid curiosity, a need to know what exactly is going on in that boy's mind. After all, isn't he supposed to be more than loyal to his so-called 'friends'?  
  
Maybe it's simply that. So-called.  
  
I'm in the corner of my hotel room, eyes blankly gazing out the window, lights dim. There's been a knocking on the door a few times now, though nothing's been said - I need to pull myself away again, if that's even possible.  
  
Another knock on the door, this one quieter than the rest, and a small voice. "Hailey...? C'mon, you can't stay hiding in there forever..."  
  
It tugs at me, draws my senses to a fever pitch - maybe that was my first mistake, getting physically involved. Or getting involved period. Either way, the damage is done.  
  
I move do open the door then move back into the room, only faint hints of a silouette in the nearly nonexistent moonlight. More dark clothing - charcoal pants, ebony one-shouldered shirt. Blonde hair messily tacked into a bun, whisps escaping to frame my face.  
  
There's a box in his hands, a slim case of cardboard that causes me to pause, glancing over my shoulder slightly, a brow arched in question.  
  
"For you." He says, then opens the box, setting it lightly on the dresser.  
  
Roses. One dozen long-stemmed roses, a spray of Baby's Breath around them.  
  
Black roses.  
  
A shiver races down my spine, and all of the sudden, I get this cold, unsettled feeling over me, which is even more bizarre as I can feel arms twine around me from behind.  
  
Warmth.  
  
"Why d'you want this...?" I'm pulling away for a moment, turning to face him - he's here, I can't help but ask. After all, I need to know... ...in a sick way, if his motives are pure. "Do you know what I'm doing?"  
  
"You're killing." Said simply, with an eerie smile twisting the words singsong, "You killed Ric and you wanna kill Hunter, and..." "How do you...?"  
  
"Hell," there's that flash of darkness in his eyes again, threatening, "you might even want to kill me, Hai..." Darkness, and - hurt. As if he's figured everything out, knows that I've used him all along.  
  
Then again, he can't say he hasn't used me.  
  
"Why do you like it?" My voice shakes, but the demand is quiet, certain. "Why do you like the fact that I want to kill...your..."  
  
"Friends?" There was amusement there, and Randy tugged me to him again, one hand moving slowly over my back, fingers tracing over my spine delicately.  
  
The feather-light touch was strange, the gentle treatment that went with the sinister conversation. "Hailey, I'm not going to get anywhere. I'm being...held back." He moves away, another step in this perilous dance, "They say they're helping me, but...fucking holding me back!"  
  
A swift movement to the table by the window, a strong hand picks up the water glass there, hurling it towards the wall, towards me. The crash rings in my ears, and -  
  
I think I shriek, I can't tell.  
  
As soon as the rage appears, though, it vanishes, and he returns to me, whispering apologies and kissing the tiny lascerations on my arms, almost wondering...how he could do this.  
  
A switchblade personality if I ever saw one.  
  
"...you're not gonna kill me, Hailey, are you?" Concern. Worry. "I...I'll do whatever you need me to. I'll cover your tracks, just..."  
  
The faintest whisper, "Do it again? One more time?"  
  
"You don't understand." I shake my head and move away, out onto the hotel balcony.  
  
I know he'll follow. 


	11. Eleven

I don't say anything for a few moments as I listen to the glass doors slide open, then closed -  
  
Then silence.  
  
The slightest hint of breath against the back of my neck, hands moving to gracefully slide over my hips, and for a moment, an odd feeling creeps over me.  
  
He could easily pitch me over this railing, down to the awaiting concrete, ending my life, my quest -  
  
He knows it, too.  
  
Breath quiet. Silent against my skin. Hands push forward with intentions, then backward just as quickly. It's a feeling that makes my pulse race, the feeling of death awaiting, and then the sudden embrace of arms around me, the feeling of teeth pressing down on my ear.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"I..." Weakly, I stumble over my words, and he frowns - apparently, not the effect he was going for, scaring the living daylights out of me. Or maybe -  
  
Maybe it was, and the fact that I can't speak for a few moments is more than frustrating. "He did more than that to m..."  
  
"Did he hurt you? I'll kill him myself. Did he, did he...?" Hands turn me around almost roughly so I'm staring at him again, pressed between the balcony and his muscular frame.  
  
I cling, if only for fear of falling. I shake my head.  
  
"No...no. My family. My father." Something in my expression breaks - and for a rare moment, a bit of angish skitters across delicate features. Eyes close, and the corners of my lips tug into a frown. "...see, when I was younger, m..."  
  
"C'mon, we'll go inside." A tug on my hands, and I'm being led back into the hotel room and over to the bed, where I sit cross-legged, a guarded expression starting to take hold. He waits for a moment, then glances at me, silently urging me to continue.  
  
"...see, my dad...shit, he was probably around your age. I was - four, five, something like that. But Daddy...had promise." Recognition starts to take hold in Randy's eyes, and I sigh softly. "Daddy could have been something big here. But...he's paralyzed."  
  
"How?" He asks, but it's clear he doesn't really need to.  
  
"Hunter picked him off." I nod slowly. "Picked him off and watched my family suffer. We had to move, Mom got two jobs, I...well, when I was old enough to realize what revenge was..."  
  
"So why'd you kill Ric?" Confusion.  
  
I just stare blankly for a moment, then look at him, eyes of land and sea stormy. "He got in the way."  
  
I say nothing else for the night, but let the meaning sink in. I'll kill whoever gets in the way in order to strike revenge for my family.  
  
Even if it is an ally.  
  
Hands that have murdered will murder again. 


	12. Twelve

The sun rose to a stormy sky, a haze that refused to disappear - much like the feeling that seemed to cloud my mind as I awoke, dizzy from the tears that had fallen before I had moved into restless slumbler.  
  
It had been a night of revelations, a clearing of reasoning.  
  
Sitting up, the first thing I managed to do was look in the mirror across from the bed, my reflection - sad, pathetic - almost lost. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin revealing faint hints of tear tracks, hair mussed beyond any possible neatness.  
  
I needed a shower. I need - to clear my head. Maybe too much had happened last night. Images that wouldn't go away.  
  
I'd even dreamt of falling from the balcony last night - falling into a pit filled with black rose petals, lost to the rest of the world. It was a dream that had made me jolt awake, frame shaking and covered in the slightest sheen of sweat.  
  
Death.  
  
Someone was going to die soon, and part of me was afraid that it might be me.  
  
Soft footsteps take me to the bathroom, and I close the door, almost silent in my movements - I don't want to wake Randy, who apparently had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed. I can vaugely remember him saying he was going to stay there until I fell asleep, and...  
  
Well, I imagine maybe he fell asleep before I did.  
  
But as I set the water to near-scalding, breathing in the steam that starts to fill the room, dusting over the mirror.  
  
It's then I hear a door open outside, and tense slightly. A voice. A very - angry voice. Seems like someone's unhappy with the fact that I'm pulling his best friend away from him.  
  
"You need to get away from...that little...Jezebel." Voice flat, but raising in volume, and I hear the handle of the bathroom door jiggle, "She's in here, isn't she? Get out here, bitch..."  
  
I couldn't make a sound, but - I could hear things happening outside. Fighting. A lot of yelling. The sound of someone trying to break down the door.  
  
Then - silence. Security.  
  
"...Hai?" A strained voice - pain. Apparently, the scuffle was worse than it sounded. "Open the door?"  
  
The lock clicks open, but the door stays closed - he gets the hint. "Are you okay?"  
  
It's then the door opens, and I see him, and - I can't help but wince instinctively. First a wince, then - a look of determination. There was blood - bruises starting to form, just -  
  
It simply was distasterous.  
  
And this - this was because of me.  
  
The rain still pitter-pattered against the windows of the hotel room, a rumble of thunder foretelling times ahead.  
  
Storms - are very close indeed. 


	13. Thirteen

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
Nights are getting longer - true, I know the time ratio is still fairly the same, but - it's more a feeling of unrest, a worry that chews feverishly at my soul. It's not something I can easily explain, but -  
  
In the same, I don't want to.  
  
Part of me wonders that every time I open my eyes - every time that I blink, breathe - it could be my last.  
  
Something will strike. Soon.  
  
-*-  
  
I'd been very quiet lately, and as much as it scared me to keep away from what safety I did have, I knew that it would be for the wiser. After all, the aftermath of the fight was still fresh in my mind, even if it'd happened days before.  
  
Days since I'd disappeared, hidden in the depths of my own room, under a fake name, at that. Something told me that I could be found almost too easily, but...  
  
Again, I think people are smarter than that. At least the people who might know my whereabouts.  
  
When I want left alone, I make sure I stay left alone.  
  
For the moment, though, I'm standing in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the box that I'd placed on the bed. A black-laquered box with a silver lock glittering temptingly.  
  
Once open, one would be able to see the lush violet velvet lining, as well as the weapon of destruction.  
  
An instrument of justice.  
  
In that box, in an almost pristine state, was my gun, fully loaded, safety off.  
  
Aquatic eyes stare at it for a long time, my head tilted to the side, long flaxen tresses falling in my face - in the days that I've been hiding, I'd let my appearance go to disarray.  
  
Clothes wrinkled. Hair hadn't seen a brush for days. The faint smell of days old perfume hung around me.  
  
Another long moment of thought, and I walk over to the bed, thumb sliding the lock's numbers into place, then lightly pressing the button, letting the latch fly open. A steady hand moved for the gun, and I closed my eyes, placing the nose of the barrel just under my chin, trigger finger gingerly in place.  
  
Eyes close, and for a moment, I consider. One pull of this trigger, and all my pain could end. All the suffering, the conflict I'd put on myself, gone in an instant.  
  
Brains splattered against beige pattered paper, the blue flowers smattered with blood.  
  
In the same instant though, I think of something else. Someone else. Several someones.  
  
I'm not in this for just myself anymore, not my own twisted sense of revenge.  
  
The trigger finger quivers, and temptation ebbs and wanes.  
  
Freedom from my self-proclaimed duty. An escape from the pointed stares and threatening suspicion.  
  
The warmth from a night of seduction. The look of hope that glittered in dark eyes when I walked into the room. My father's deteriorating health...  
  
He was dying. I hadn't said anything to anyone, but - I'd recieved the call yesterday. He may have a week.  
  
They'd wanted me to come home. Come away.  
  
Part of me wanted more away than anyone could understand.  
  
The trigger finger squeezed slightly, but not enough to release the shot. Voices - I could hear someone telling me to stop this, that I was worth more than that, that people would pay for making me hurt.  
  
All the hurt had been brought on by myself, though. All of it.  
  
I should just pull it.  
  
Eyes fluttered open, and the gun slipped. Trigger finger slid.  
  
The shot rang out, I'm sure, but it only hit the wall behind me.  
  
I, instead of dying at my own expense, collapsed into a fit of tears.  
  
There is nothing but pain here. 


	14. Fourteen

The shot did ring out down the hall, letting the whole world know just where I was laying. It did not, however, let them see the slow bleeding inside, the blood of emotion that seeped like the sap of the maple tree, slow and oozing, reluctant to leave.  
  
Hands were shaking, but I found the gun on the floor, as I'd dropped it at the shot, not even realizing anything about that moment.  
  
Only the feverish pulling of the trigger.  
  
The fall.  
  
...the miss.  
  
It's as if my own life was sliding away as the days pass, as if I feel I should die, or if I'm dead already.  
  
Maybe I am.  
  
There's a knock on the door then, loud - insistent. Panicked.  
  
It took longer than I thought, but I know who it is - that only makes the tears come harder.  
  
Heaving sobs break me down even more, and I whimper, gasping for breath.  
  
I wish I wouldn't have missed.  
  
"Hailey, you open this door right now, or I swear to god I'm going to break it down." There was no plea. Simply an order, edged with worry, and a couple loud thuds.  
  
He wasn't going to quit until that door was off its hinges.  
  
I crawl, slowly, to the door, pulling myself up just enough to click the lock open, then slide to meet the floor again, shaking violently.  
  
The door swings open, handle banging against the wall, nearly swinging back around - he doesn't seem to notice though, a hand moving to push it back away as he kneels, checking to see if I'm bleeding, if I'd shot myself...  
  
He doesn't know how close I came to actually doing such.  
  
"Where does it hurt?" Randy keeps asking, arms tight around me, voice nigh above a whisper. He knows there's pain somewhere, but.. "Tell me, Hai, where's it hurt?"  
  
"You can't fix it." I want to push him away, tell him to get as far away from me as he possibly can, but at this point, I'm too weak to do so -  
  
His gaze wanders from me to the blast in the wall, and brows furrow, a soft sigh escaping when he does put it all together.  
  
"Don't. Princess..." Princess. Even though I had stopped crying for the moment, the word brought tears to my eyes once more, and I fell in his arms, not even fussing slightly when he moved me onto the bed, fingers combing through messy hair.  
  
"A few more days. Just a few more, and everything will be okay."  
  
I know he's trying to get me to feel better, trying to keep me from imploding.  
  
It got harder every day.  
  
"You disappeared, and then I heard the shot, and...oh my god, you don't know how much I freaked out..."  
  
This is the weight that had kept me from ending it. This -  
  
"A few more days. It'll be over, then?" My voice shakes, uncertain.  
  
We were all so certain once, weren't we? Then the world shakes us all to the core.  
  
Sometimes, it's just worse.  
  
I didn't get any reassurance. 


	15. Fifteen

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
Maybe I misjudged some things - some people.  
  
Some are far more dangerous than I knew, others -  
  
There aren't words, and that scares me.  
  
I'd never planned on becoming attached, but the past few days/nights have been more than their share of difficult.  
  
Without thought, though, without question, Randy's been there.  
  
Part of me wonders if that's enough.  
  
-*-  
  
The gun has been put away for now, taken out of my room, despite my own objections. Supposedly, I was safer this way, and there was no possibility of me hurting myself.  
  
To me, though, it only made me more vulnerable.  
  
Paranoid.  
  
Scared.  
  
I kept playing the part I'd given myself, though - the black-clad blonde bombshell who slinked alongside Randy Orton, throwing myself into gratuitious displays of heated passion whenever possible.  
  
To the world, I was merely a plaything.  
  
The two of us knew better, and only the two of us.  
  
Aside from parading myself around like some cheap whore, I was quiet.  
  
Reclusive.  
  
Falling more and more into my own abyss.  
  
It was a phone call that threatened to shatter, though. Somber conversation, silences broken by the muffled sound of forced-back tears.  
  
Complications had defeated all hope.  
  
At five fourty-three this morning, my father passed away.  
  
The phone reciever meets the carpet, and I'm stumbling over to the door separating our rooms. Mine was open, and it only took two faint knocks on the opposing door to oepn, a young man's eyes already welling with concern.  
  
"I don't wanna be alone tonight." Voice barely above a whisper, I didn't protest when I was gingerly picked up and brought to bed.  
  
I'll explain when the tears run dry. 


	16. Sixteen

"So he just...died?" A quiet voice, finally voicing the question that had hung in the air for hours, unspoken, while salt-slicked cheeks dried, while a tiny frame shook in arms that could easily crush me.  
  
I felt like I was crushed - felt, looked, almost wanted to be. Part of me thought that the moment my father died, a bit of my own life slipped from shaking hands and liquid eyes, only to be fed back to me by whispers of reassurance.  
  
He could only do so much, though, and regardless of what he did - no one was going to take the feeling of empty there, turn it into something less painful.  
  
He tried, but -  
  
I merely nodded at his question, eyes glassy, voice - nonexistent. I didn't want to speak, didn't know if I'd be able to be able to listen to my own voice without thinking about something else.  
  
Without thinking of how my father had probably died, surrounded by tubes and wires. How he had never known what I was going to do, what I wanted to do to right the wrong...  
  
Part of me thinks he would have been ashamed.  
  
There is part of me, however, that simply doesn't care now. One less tie to my old life burned away, taken from shaking hands by the hand of death itself.  
  
Maybe it was permission for me to think this way, that I had the right to do what I wanted to.  
  
"Hailey...please, say something?" That same concern was there as hands found my shoulders and rubbed at them gently. "I need to hear you, y'know? Need..."  
  
"I'm scared." My voice sounded quiet, far away - not my own. My brain was going a million miles an hour, trying to see those last few moments for myself, trying to keep my mind on the good memories of my childhood...  
  
But there was a stabbing cold in my heart. Fear.  
  
The fights had become more frequent, and it was becoming more and more obvious that my mere existence was contemptuous to Hunter, as I knew, obviously, that I was favored more.  
  
Part of me took that with a smile, knowing that nothing would hurt me as long as Randy was breathing. He'd said so. Promised.  
  
The fear, though - told me he may not be breathing for long. 


	17. Seventeen

From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
Some people lie. Others tell the truth. Sometimes, it gets too twisted to really tell the difference.  
  
-*-  
  
It was drizzling again, the sound of water assaulting the pavement monotinous in being, the tap-click of my high heels keeping quiet rhythm - click click tap click tap tap...  
  
My hair had fallen into my face, and for the moment, I do nothing about it - today has been odd, far more quiet than I thought it would be, given what had just happened.  
  
It seemed he was - angry with me? Perhaps Randy had realized that I had taken the box with the gun back, and was preturbed with that. Or maybe he had realized that I was nothing more than trouble.  
  
Maybe the fact that I was a formidable threat that re-dawned.  
  
I had done damnage, after all. I'd killed Ric, I'd tried to kill myself, I still - I intended to kill again.  
  
But tonight? I was alone - the gun was in my room, hidden away in the lockbox there - a lockbox for a locked box.  
  
Maybe, if he knew how careful I was being, he'd be proud.  
  
tapclicktapclicktapclick...  
  
"Hailey." A voice interrupted my thoughts, my steps, froze my blood in my veins. I knew who it was, and while every fiber in my being told me to get out of here as soon as I could, get back to the hotel, get...  
  
As much as I wanted to run, to find safety, I stood still at the voice.  
  
Hunter's voice.  
  
"You thought he'd be yours forever, didn't you? Thought that as long as you had him, I couldn't get to you..." Steps brought him to me, calloused fingers carefully running through rain-dampened hair, brushing across my face.  
  
I shuddered at the touch, and tried to look him in the eye, but failed. I knew that touch.  
  
Predatory.  
  
"Leave me alone." I tried to step away, but fingers moved quickly, closed around my wrist, wrenched my arm - the pain shot through, and I realized how vulnerable I had become in thinking I was invincible.  
  
"Let me tell you something, Hai..." Teasing - only one person used the shortened version of my name, one that had become almost - affectionate.  
  
The sound of it now, however, made my stomach churl. "Little princesses are nothing but whores without their princes, aren't they? Where's yours?" A long, bitter pause. "Nowhere to be found." A dark sneer, amusement glinting in eyes. "You know why, Hailey? I told him. I told him you were merely using him and anything you've ever told him was a lie."  
  
Laughter. Cold.  
  
"He cried, you know that? He told me that he thought you loved him? Loved. And you know what? He said he'd die for you, to keep you safe..."  
  
Hunter wrenches my arm again, and I cry out in pain - no one can hear me, I know.  
  
"But right now, all you are is a little whore, and he's off drinking his pain away. It wasn't smart, leaving by yourself...raises questions."  
  
Wrench. I can feel him starting to drag me, breath slamming against my ear, faint laughter.  
  
"I'm gonna see how much of a whore his little princess really is, and then he'll get what he deserves." 


	18. Eighteen

As the sun rose, it took me a few moments to blink myself into consciousness - only to realize that I was in pain.  
  
Only to realise that my hands were chained - no, handcuffed, to bedposts, that feet had been bound together with hastily knotted sheets.  
  
I didn't remember much about the night before - or maybe I didn't want to remember, as I knew something was wrong. The sounds weren't the same, the sights, the feeling wasn't the same as I'd known in days, weeks before.  
  
The smell - it was one mistakably of sex, and based on the fact that I still couldn't move from the bed -  
  
Dawn broke, and when my mind finally made the connection, so did the dam of my tears.  
  
It's hours before he awakes, sweaty and quite amused, proud of himself. Hunter's never liked me since I had made it obvious that I had chose Randy over him -  
  
Not that it matters now, it seems.  
  
My eyes close, and I hear the soft click of handcuffs, feel someone picking me up - the short trip across the hall.  
  
Meeting the floor, the hard, cold feeling of hallway meeting my falling frame. A knock on the door.  
  
Then silence.  
  
Silence.  
  
A phone ringing inside the room. Gruff voice, decidedly hung over, answering, then pausing -  
  
The door flings open, and - the phone falls to meet my shaking self as well.  
  
For now, I'm safe. For now...  
  
"He told me." Randy doesn't say what he's been told, or who told him, but - he doesn't have to. I know. I can see the hurt, there. "Say it's not true, Hailey. Even if it's a lie."  
  
I can't say anything at that moment, but stare at him, wanting him to take me into the room, lock the door -  
  
Anything to be away from what had happened the night before, because by now, things are starting to come to my memory, and -  
  
"Let me be sick." I whimper, trying to pull myself up into the doorway, only to drag myself into the bathroom. The door barely closes before one could hear the distinct sound of someone wretching. Water starts running a few moments later.  
  
I don't think I can scrub my skin hard enough to get that touch away.  
  
The gun is hidden away - but I don't think I can live without it for long.  
  
The door opens, and Randy simply stands there, eyes looking for answers, looking... "It's not true." I whimper. "Whatever he told you...wat to get you mad, so he could..."  
  
I can't finish my thought for a moment, and I lean against the shower wall sliding down to sit in the bottom of the bathtub. Limbs curl in, lashes fall closed, and the tears start again.  
  
"He said this was my due. You'd get yours. I just..."  
  
I look to him, stopping my tears only for a moment.  
  
"I'm going to do it soon." 


	19. Nineteen

Vigilante. 19.  
  
From the diary of Hailey Beckford -  
  
I don't stray much from my own path now, don't go anywhere that might get me into trouble - after what had happened, it was probably best this way, but -  
  
It hurt.  
  
I'd made myself a prisoner in a golden palace.  
  
Backs turned on me where I did go, as if my own path was going to lead to the icy fingers of death.  
  
The gun stays with me now.  
  
-*-  
  
The door is locked, bolted - and even two locks don't make me feel safe about being here alone - I'd since given up having my own room, having the space where I could reassure myself.  
  
It simply wasn't reassuring anymore.  
  
Even the feeling of being tangled in limbs, twisted in agonizing bliss.  
  
Nightmares come easy now. Easier. Visions of tainted touch take all my security away from me, no matter what I'm told.  
  
The worst part of it is - I know it hurts him. I know that somewhere in the dark eyes that I've let myself get lost in.  
  
I'd allowed myself to drown in the arms of another, to let someone else take care of me when I'd needed it.  
  
Let someone else use me.  
  
Let myself use someone else.  
  
At first, though, I felt no guilt about doing what I had done - in my mind, Randy had been just as bad as the others, and I -  
  
I almost felt good about stringing him along, using him for my own devices.  
  
Then I'd found out he had reasons; I should have known.  
  
We all have reasons.  
  
But for now, I was alone, and behind locked doors; I knew I was safe, so to speak, but - part of me knew that he wasn't here.  
  
Had some 'things' to take care of, or so he said.  
  
Part of me felt - this was bad.  
  
There was simply a few hairs at the back of my neck that refused to lie still, a preternatural sense that something was about to go terribly wrong.  
  
Eyes closed, and I fell into restless sleep, long black silk skirt tangling around my legs, the fabric of my long-sleeved white shirt starting to creep up a barely-moving torso.  
  
It's a bit later that I'm awakened by the sound of the telephone ringing beside the bed, and bleary eyes open, a hand moving to brush honey-gold hair from my face as I lift the reciever, sleepily answering.  
  
The voice on the other end is unfamiliar, and - sterile. Part of me just knows it's the kind of voice that comes from a hospital.  
  
Nerves dance on the edge of a skittish panic, and my breath becomes short.  
  
Head nods, jerking up and down as I'm told things.  
  
The worst possible scenario.  
  
...severe trauma to the back...  
  
Sledgehammer. Has to be.  
  
...unsure of his condition...  
  
"Bullshit." Eyes are filling with tears as I slam the phone down, and for a moment, I don't know what to do.  
  
History repeats itself. History - stabs me again in it's transition to the present.  
  
Vision blurred with tears that don't seem to stop, I grab my keys.  
  
Think for a moment.  
  
The gun gets stuffed in my purse. 


	20. Twenty

Everything feels too far away - distant, as if life itself is slipping away from me as I run to my car, as shaking hands scratch at the keyhole for on the driver's side door of my car -  
  
I don't have the patience to try to remember the code that the little keypad would require. The key scratches over the silver-violet finish of the sportscar a few more times before I swear loudly before finally jamming the key in the slot.  
  
A quick jerk of the handle swings the door open, and then I'm frantically trying to start the car -  
  
I know there's nothing I can do about it, though.  
  
They don't even know how he is, how bad it is -  
  
I can't help but think the worst, can't help but think that maybe, this is exactly what happened all those years ago when I was too young to fully understand 'the accident.'  
  
Panic rips through my veins as I run a stoplight. Two.  
  
Horns blare aggressively in my direction, swearing comes from people who could only be either big burly truckers or spoiled socialites. It doesn't matter to me, though. The sounds of the rest of the world, the rest of the world period, doesn't matter.  
  
If I were to have my revenge now, it would be bittersweet.  
  
It doesn't mean I won't try, doesn't mean I'm now not all the more driven to come out of this with a vindicated heart and a smoking gun...  
  
But a part of my soul hurt - it was a dull, slow ache, slowly growing as I turned into the hospital drive, car screeching around the turn.  
  
One would think it were a matter of life and death.  
  
As I slam into a parking space, unbalanced, I shove the gear into park, then merely sit for a few moments. The gun is stuffed under the passenger seat, as I know...  
  
I can't take it in there. As much as I want to. As much as I'm feeling the need to protect now...  
  
After that, though, I move out of the car, trying to keep as together as I possibly can.  
  
Up the hospital walk.  
  
Through the door.  
  
To the nurses' station.  
  
From there to the door seems - seems forever, and it takes all the willpower I have to keep from bursting into tears.  
  
Something tells me, even before I open the door, that this is my fault.  
  
But I open the door slowly, my breath coming out in a slow stream between closed lips, eyes fluttering closed, afraid of what they might see...  
  
"Hailey." The voice is familiar, and I thank god for that. And maybe that's a false sense of security for me, as I open my eyes -  
  
I simply wasn't prepared for the myriad of machinery ion the room, the beeps and clicks and wires and tubes -  
  
I'd avoided hospitals as much as humanly possible since I was very young, and -  
  
The similarities between when I was younger and now - the similarity chilled my core, but I tried...  
  
Not to show it.  
  
Limber frame settles into one of the uncomfortable chairs beside the bed, and I look away for a moment. It's harder to keep under control at the moment, and...  
  
"...he knew you were alone. Was going.." The thought's never finished, but there's a small shudder that passes through the room, the air -  
  
Neither of us has to say what the end of the thought was.  
  
"You, though...are...?" The silence is deafening, strangling words before they have a chance to be spoken, sending another wave of the maddening quiet tension over the too-sterile walls.  
  
He shakes his head. "Don't know. They're saying there's a chance I might not be as bad..." A soft sigh escapes. "Walking, right now, is iffy."  
  
I want to cry, then. Cry and scream and find the bastard responsible for this and make him pay. Make him pay for my father, make him pay for this...  
  
"I was only trying to keep you safe." A hand finds mine, giving the tiniest of squeezes. "I promised you that, didn't I? We're all we've got."  
  
It's then, and only then, that the realization creeps over me. He's right. We are all we have; and this - this threatened to shatter that. Tears fell heavy over my cheeks, and I glanced around for a moment before moving to close the door, curling carefully on the side of the hospital bed.  
  
We're all we have, and this - this is all we can do for each other.  
  
For today, for tonight...  
  
It all felt like it was sliding out of my grasp, and as I clung to the body of the man beside me - I clung to every hope that kept me going.  
  
Every hope. Pain. Feeling.  
  
More resided here than anywhere else in the world. 


	21. TwentyOne

Part of me is worried. Part of me worries over every passing moment. I can hear the machines from the hospital, even though I've left hours ago, even if I silently vowed that I was never going to go there again.  
  
I couldn't tell him that. I couldn't say that moments were fleeting, and sometime soon, I'm sure one of us would have our last.  
  
I couldn't quite bring myself to completely tear away from him as the sun rose, not without a couple tears glistening in red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"Later," I'd mumbled, breath dusting Randy's forehead as I leaned in to kiss his forehead.  
  
Fingers closed around mine for the briefest moment, as if he knew I might not be coming back. Maybe he knew what I was planning, what I felt the inevitable was. "...do you really have to go? Hai..."  
  
I was already picking my shoes off the floor, lacing the delicate black boots over my feet - I'd let them slip off before crawling onto the hospital bed, because...  
  
He didn't want to be alone. I didn't have the heart to leave him alone, either.  
  
I'd spent most of the night awake, even, trying to get my bearings for when I knew I was going to have to take off.  
  
"Be careful."  
  
I'd been halfway out the door when I'd heard something. Very faint, as if he was uncertain that it should even be said. "...I'm sorry I hurt you. I...love you."  
  
I let the door fall closed behind me, a wistful sigh escaping full lips.  
  
"You only hurt the ones you love, don't you?" Crystalline tears fell, and I grasped, white-knuckled, for my keys.  
  
I want my gun. I want this to be over.  
  
I want a happy ending.  
  
Part of me knows, though. There are no happy endings.  
  
-*-  
  
The sound of my boots against the asphalt, the odd clicking that the heels seemed to have - it was a slight comfort - something constant in the noise, as if it were tied to the machines in the hospital.  
  
As long as my shoes my that noise, the machines would still run.  
  
I would still have someone, something to go back to. 


	22. TwentyTwo

The sun is cheerful, and it burns into my eyes as I drive, but I don't bother to set the visor down. I know that it's only a momentary glare, and -  
  
I'll deal with it as such.  
  
The gun box is in the passenger side of my car, open and revealing the velvet lining, the loaded weapon. I don't care who sees it, how much trouble I could get in for having such where it was -  
  
None of it's relevant, now.  
  
Tiny red streaks cry from my arms, the result of my nails digging in, digging down - for a few moments, I'd thought about ending it, again.  
  
Bleeding. Feeling. Dying. It all seemed tied together in a perilous dance, one with only one possible ending.  
  
beepbeepbeepbeep...  
  
My pulse still tuned alongside the heart monitor that paced on miles away from here, the place where I feel -  
  
I should have left my soul there.  
  
Maybe I did, I think, as I speed over the curves in this road, uncertain where I'm going to end up.  
  
Maybe that thought would be a comfort to him, one to myself.  
  
I'd left my soul when I'd left that bed.  
  
That meant I had a soul to give.  
  
My hands grip the wheel all the tighter while I think of this, while I think of many things -  
  
The rage that had brought me here, the naive-looking girl on the Greyhound bus who only sought revenge for her beloved father.  
  
The twisted web of lies and seductions I'd entrapped myself into, the facade that had bled into myself, the act that had somehow become real.  
  
I'd bought into the fact that this could make me invincible.  
  
I'd bought into the fact - I'd cheated love out of someone, used him, been used, and -  
  
I'd hurt more than I should have.  
  
My father - my dear father passed on from this world, out of his pain...  
  
It could have all ended there. Should...  
  
I should have finished what I'd started right now, and shot anyone dead who got in my way. It should have been clean. Simple.  
  
The tears still don't stop.  
  
I didn't follow through, and now history repeats. It stings. Even if I know that I have to remove myself from the equation soon, for my safety...  
  
For his...  
  
I can't hear the beeping in my head anymore. The car stops. One hand unbuckles my seatbelt, then moves gingerly for the gun, fingers curling around it, familiar -  
  
Like an old friend.  
  
He feels gone in my heart, as if in these moments, he has died.  
  
Part of myself dies again. First my father, and now...  
  
I have no proof, save for the heavy feeling in my soul.  
  
That's enough to make me hide the gun, open the door...  
  
In the cheerful, burning sun, it will end. 


	23. TwentyThree

My intuition needs to be wrong. Needs to. Just this once, I want that feeling in the bottom of my stomach to be severely mistaken; I want to know that things are going to be okay, and that when I go to the hospital, he'll still be there.  
  
He'll have worried about me, maybe he'll yell about the fact that I'd rushed out, the fact that I'd needed to take care of this myslef. The way -   
I was throwing myself in danger's path once again, Reckless.   
  
But the feeling needs to be vindicated. The quivering fear that I'll open my eye and my world will have shattered again.   
It's not that I've had much to hold on to since I'd come here, and something in my mind keeps taunting me.  
  
You won't have anything when this is over. You won't. You'll have nothing, Hai...

It's then that my psyche twists, the voice in my head slinding to a deep whisper, a sound that makes a shiver scream down my spine. The taunting get to be too much, really, and I can't help but close my eyes as I open the car door.   
  
Flashes of moments piece themselves together in my mind.  
  
The bus trip here, the mix of confusion and determination that had been set in the very marrow of my bones, the twisted lack of innocence that had damaged me from the start.  
  
The plot itself, thickening as I wormed myself into what I had at once thought was the enemy camp, thinking it would be too easy. Thinking...  
  
The first sin. The falling from grace, tangling myself in illicit relations, drowning in the possiblity of safety, even if I was only fooling myself.  
  
The feeling of - the first gunshots. The look of terror.  


I'm losing it.  
  
My father's death. The fights. The phone call.   
It all mixed with heated memories of passion, of nights where I had given myself completely to passion that could override any sense of logic, any fear I'd had...  
  
The feeling of warm hands on my stomach, over my shoulders, a feeling like fire, as if his touch had branded me like iron.  
  
Damned.  


"...I love you..."  
The words still stung, and tears wanted to leap out, but I kept them at bay, moving up the stairs, slowly...

"I thought you'd have come sooner." A voice interrupted my thoughts, and I winced slightly. I didn't have to turn around to know what it was - to know who it was.   
  
My stomach turned then, and I let a breath out slowly, my hand steady on my gun.  
  
I wanted to shoot him right away, but - 

"Aren't you going to do something with that?" Hunter's voice oozed into my ears, and I winced as he came closer, trying to lift my arm -   
In all desperation, I wanted to shoot him, but was too paralyzed in my thoughts to do anything.   
To move. To breathe. To blink.  
  
He moved close, fingers brushing a few stray bits of blonde out of my face, gaze glancing hard into mine. His head tilted to the side, then, thoughtful...  
  
I felt my arm wrenched behind my back again, the gun barrel against my back.

"You weren't that great anyway." A mutter in my ear, and the barrel jams more against my spine. The faintest of squeaks escapes.  
  
"...and you killed him. You killed Ric, and...well, we all knew what was going to happen when your little games were over, so I just did the favor for you."  
  
I was going to be sick. Hunter knew - what I was afraid of.

  
"He's not dead." I manage weakly, eyes closing. I need to tell myself that - need to tell myself that there's hope, that there's a reason for me to go on with this, a reason...  
  
A reason to fight.  
  



	24. TwentyFour

"He's not dead. Not..." I have to keep telling myself this, under my breath, because my voice is faltering. My very will to exist is faltering under the nose of the gun as it digs into the crinkled silk of my shirt, sending nerves crackling under snow-white skin.  
  
I know I'm pale now.  
  
I can't breathe.  
  
Blink.  
  
Move.  
  
I know Hunter knows that right now, there's a definite advantage in his favor - I'm simply too tired, too broken to do anything but tell myself that this is how it was going to end.  
  
And in the end, I'm motionless, fighting with my core.  
  
"You know you're only lying to yourself, Miss Beckford..." I wanted to turn around then, if only to ask -  
  
How he knew. I'd never used my surname in the time I'd been here, and...  
  
Blood ran cold through my veins, and moments passed.  
  
One breath.  
  
Two.  
  
Three.  
  
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.  
  
Don't let the tears fall.  
  
He sees all this, sees the hesitance, weakness - he knows that I've become far more attached than I'd originally intended, the fact that right now, I needed more strength than I had.  
  
I searched my mind for the connection I'd felt. The consistent beeping. The sound of life, supported.  
  
Silence.  
  
If I concentrated hard enough, though, if I forced my will to reach out -  
  
Faintly, something told me. There was life...  
  
"...dead, Hailey. And you killed him." I'm whirled around then, and the gun is raised to just under my throat, my arms still pinned against my back, the bones, muscles screaming in agony, twisted..  
  
"You shattered every bit of him with your bitter charms..."  
  
His finger rests on the trigger, pulls just slightly.  
  
Click.  
  
...beep. beep. beep...  
  
The sound in my head returns, ever so faintly, and I nearly scream out in joy - the knot in my throat keeps it from happening, though, but I move, slightly.  
  
Untwist my arm. Move -  
  
The slight movement turns into something faster, and I feel a pain shoot through my arm - I knew it had been coming, and then -  
  
A shot. Fire tears through me, and I scream out in agony... It takes me a few moments to realize I could scream.  
  
If the gun had made it's intended target? My voice box would have been shot out.  
  
I can scream, and with that in my mind, I try to fight.  
  
The pain is searing, and I wince as my balance shifts, as I try to tear the gun away from Hunter...  
  
He's going to shoot it again.  
  
Bullets tear through, but none hit. Blood stains my shirt, a puddle of red growing on the soft material of my shirt.  
  
The pain is nearly overwhelming.  
  
In a move of desperation, I try to kick the gun out of his hands, my weight being thrown into the single movement.  
  
My foot connects.  
  
I meet the ground.  
  
The gun skitters across pavement, just out of my reach.  
  
It hurts too much to pull myself up, so I crawl. Crawl to the smoking metal, knowing that his fingers may find it sooner than mine...  
  
Hands reach as far as they can go.  
  
Fingers snap. A death grip on the gun.  
  
Two bullets. Two shots.  
  
It goes black. 


	25. TwentyFive

It was a long time before dual-colored eyes flickered open again, and I bit my lip, wincing in pain at the harsh light shining above me. There were voices around, though all of them distant.  
  
None familiar.  
  
There was the static whir and beep of hospital machinery, the smell of death, glossed over by sanitizer. The air-conditioning was on too high, and - I couldn't see out my window.  
  
Couldn't see if it was day or night. Couldn't tell how fast the world was running around me.  
  
The fear stabbing in me was far more real than the now-dulled pain in my chest, the bandages making my shoulder itch.  
  
My shoulder.   
  
It was just now that I'd realized that I'd been shot in the shoulder - the pain had been there previous, but I'd thought it much worse, thought I wouldn't wake to see the detached sterility, the white noise of a hospital room.  
  
I open my mouth to speak, to protest at all of this, but no one notices.   
  
I wonder if it's over. If he's dead.   
If everyone's dead, if I've done it...  
  
For nothing.  
  
"...is it over?" I whimper, mostly to myself, though a passing nurse overhears me. Overhears something. Maybe it's simply that I'm awake now, and hadn't died through the night.   
  
Something about an obscene amount of blood loss  


"I want to go home." A tiny murmur, and I move to sit up, ignoring the way the room tilts, my blurred vision. "I don't wanna be here, they'll catch..."  
  
I don't finish my sentence, as I'm hushed and told to stay where I am, that I won't be permitted out of the room until the doctors grant me such.  
  
I don't feel I can wait that long, honestly. My skin itches, soul burns - there are the tiniest fragments of tears glittering in pools of iced-over eyes.   
  
Helpless.  
  
I'm not connected to anything right now; apparently, I've been stable enough in the morning that they deemed it unnecessary. Or maybe someone thought it was right for me to die.  
  
Perhaps it was. Die, or simply...disappear.  
  
"Is he all right?" My voice, taking a tiny bit more volume, posed one question, one which would have awaken me sooner if I hadn't been thrown into false slumber.

"...the man th'found y'with?" The nurse looked confused for a moment, but shook her head. "Two gunshots to the chest. He didn't have much hope of.."  
  
"No." I shook slightly in my bed, biting my lip, almost trying to convince it to split - the acidic taste of my own blood reminded me I was alive.  
"...is..R.."  
  
"Y'friend." The nurse looked familiar now, and I'm almost certain that she'd seen me in the hospital the day before.  
Only...less than fourty-eight hours. That's how long it had been since I'd felt safe, content..  
  
"He's not dead, is he?" The tears slip down; I let them fall.  
  
She doesn't answer for a moment, but sighs softly.  
"...fell into critical when y'left, darlin'. Ain't sure what's gonna happen t'im."  
  
"I want to see him." I demanded, "I want to know that he's not dead. See for myself."  
  
"Let th'doc come in here an' get a look atcha, first."  
  
I wait with baited breath.


	26. Epilogue

The doctor had come a couple hours later - a couple hours of squirming in wait, knowing I could do nothing else. The nurse, in the meantime, had got my clothes, ragged and bloody as they were, and I'd gone home.  
  
If you could call the traveling caravan home, I suppose.  
  
A change of clothes, though, as well as a shower, did nothing to alter my mood, and after pulling myself together, I pulled something out of the hotel room dresser.   
  
A simple journal, leather bound. It was nearing the end of its pages, but perhaps had room for a single entry more.  
  
So I write.  


I don't know what went wrong. I don't know why I couldn't do things the way I'd intended, without becoming tangled in a web of deceptions. We all told lies then, and we know it.  
  
But I'm sorry.  
  
I want you to have this, the journal that caused my heart to blaze for the vengeance I've finally followed through on. I just wish you hadn't been involved.  
  
I can't stay here, and while I'll miss you, maybe it's for the best. Don't try to find me, it's not worth it.  
  
I sigh softly, feeling more tears splash down my face, onto the paper, blurring ink.  
  
I'm sorry I never told you I loved you back.  
  
Fingers carefully closed the book, gingerly placing it into my purse.   
  
The drive to the hospital is excruciatingly long, the walk down the hospital corridor even longer. Finally, though, I stop at the door, pausing only to keep my composure as I gaze in on him.   
  
Sleeping. Tied to a million different hospital gadgets, yet looking so unconcerned. Almost arrogant in his obliviousness.  
  
Arrogant. Like I'd seen him before.  
  
After a few moments, though, I step into the room, silent as not to wake him. The book is placed on his nightstand, and I lean over, fighting back tears, to press one gentle kiss to his forehead.  
  
A wordless goodbye before I turn and walk out the door.  
  
The drive away hurts the most, but tomorrow, I start over. Tomorrow, I change my looks, if only with a cheap box of hair dye and colored contacts. Tomorrow, I change my name.  
  
Hailey Beckford will no longer exist; the pretty blonde with captivating eyes died the moment she left that hospital room.  
  
Hannah's a pretty name though, a new start. Hannah Elizabeth, I think. Hannah Elizabeth Orton.

While I will never be there to see him again, I won't forget.  
I never do.


End file.
